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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484597">An unusual communion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorLittleOrphan/pseuds/PoorLittleOrphan'>PoorLittleOrphan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Bondage, Cock Piercing, Cock Worship, Devious Devices, Deviously Cursed Loot, Dungeons and Deviousness, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Headcanon, Magic, Magic Cock, Mindfuck, Multi, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, My First Smut, Nords (Elder Scrolls), Orcs, Original Character(s), Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:13:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorLittleOrphan/pseuds/PoorLittleOrphan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chincia did not see any of the beauty for which the city of Markath was renowned. Instead, she saw a suffocating collection of disappointing memories and droll peasants. She would not dwindle her youth on the fools littering these streets – today she left for the Mage's College of Winterhold.<br/>---<br/>So, this is my first piece ever. My first short story over a thousand words and first raunchy story ever. The events in this are loosely based off a modded skyrim playthrough ("dungeons and deviousness") that I started a few days ago. The turn of events that the PC went through really got me thinking about how she might interpret the situations and what her motivations could be. </p><p>Apologies in advance if the gender inequality of the setting is offensive - it was a core theme of the mods and I felt that playing it down took out some of the spice!</p><p>Please give me thoughts and feedback!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An unusual communion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chincia of Vlindrel Hall strutted the slippery steps of Markath with the confidence of a monarch. Her tailored wolf-skin vestment left little doubt of her high status and left even less to the imagination. The rich woollen lining provided her with a reassuring warmth that only the elite of the city were familiar. Magnificent coils of red hair, effortlessly draped around her face, bounced against her lightly freckled cheeks with each calculated pace. Her pale skin betrayed no signs of the working class – scars, disease, grime nor even a wrinkle marred her complexion. She was undeniably a picture of youthful virility. Onlookers found it hard not to stare, be it with envy, lust, or any other form of yearning. Chincia did not care for their reasons, for she knew well the power of her looks and she was well accustomed to taking advantage of it.</p><p>Having spent most of her life in Markath, she saw little of the beauty reflected in the starry eyes of visiting adventurers from distant realms. Instead, she saw a suffocating collection of disappointing memories and droll peasants. Sure, toying with the dribbling boys of the working class was entertaining for a while, but too much of this place reeked of squandered opportunity and complacence. Besides, how many times can you look at the same waterfall until it is just another rock in the scenery; to Chincia, it was an infernal racket spewing from a wrinkle in the mountain. No, she would not dwindle her youth on the fools littering these streets – for today she left for College of Winterhold.</p><p>Knowing this was her last time wandering the streets, she permitted herself a final moment to appreciate the light spray of water that permeated the city. The mist was cool as it settled on her face and chest. She closed her eyes, homing in on the familiar roar of the cities various waterfalls – recreating in her mind their various winding paths through the city. She absorbed the sound of the foot traffic all around her, noticing the curt snip-snap of a scribe or merchant, the rapid padding of a barefoot child gleefully squealing, and the lumbering footfall that doubtless belonged to a miner, trudging slowly behind her. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils, catching hints of the questionably fresh market fish – and let out a yelp as she felt a pair of long bony fingers speed their way up her dress with ferocious intent to penetrate her sacred flower!</p><p>Whirling towards her assailant she was confronted by an emaciated man with a battered mouth and pocked skin. His eyebrows were raised in expectation – excitement smeared across his twisted features, all the while his fingers still lingered on her buttock. Gobsmacked by this fool’s advances, she shoved him in the chin – cranking his head awkwardly up and away from his stubbly neck. The man stumbled back, regaining his posture, and laughed as he collected his miner’s pickaxe from the ground. Upon his face, a look portrayed faux-injury and he gripped his heart dramatically.</p><p>While Chincia did not have the connections that her late father did, she knew that his name still granted her some privileges. Furious, she stomped towards the miner whose leering eyes were fixated on the jiggle of her ample breast. Always a reliable ally, her chest distracted him long enough for her to punch him, square in his rotten mouth. Howling in pain, the man clasped his hands over his face. At this point, a few passers-by had gathered to watch the commotion. There was silence - but for the distant clank of armour, steadily increasing in volume and tempo. The miner raised his head, the jest had left his eyes and was replaced by a seething intensity.</p><p>“Yoo fookin whore… yoo done knocked me toof oou’. Now aye only go’ free left.” The miner spluttered, blood careening down the sides of his split lips. Despite the murderous look, Chincia was impressed by herself – never having thrown a punch before she was shocked by the damage she left on the man’s face.</p><p>“And doubtless you’ll have no teeth by Sundas judging by the rot in your brain! Do you not see the way of things here? You will live and die a worthless miner. Your life’s purpose is to put a goblet at my dinner table. You don’t get to touch <em>me</em>, you fucking cretin!” Chincia spat, emboldened by the surrounding onlookers and the sounds of guards, which were now appearing at the edges of the jeering crowd.  </p><p>Prompted by the threat, the miner backed into the anonymity of the hustling press, disappearing before the guards could assess the situation properly. But not before giving her a look to suggest that this feud was far from over.</p><p>***</p><p>The incident with the miner had served as a visceral reminder of her hate for this place. Now, standing in the main gate’s market, she was reminded yet again why she needed to escape. A young woman lay sprawled across her stall. Blood pooled beneath her, trickling to form little moats around her few meagre wares, which moments ago, were displayed with care… and hope. Who could’ve guessed that she’d be the latest victim to the foresworn rebellion? How could a simple fishmonger pose any threat to anyone?</p><p>Brushing aside her uncomfortable meanderings, she found herself a little frustrated by the girl’s chosen place to die. Tenderly, Chincia stepped around the fishergirl’s corpse, trying not to get blood on her fine leather boots.</p><p>Having prepared all season of the Seed, Chincia had spent her last few septims on supplies for the trip to Winterhold. She held her map and compass at the ready, with her backpack fit to bursting with her other essentials. Her mental checklist ran over the contents for the thousandth time, and her mind wandered to consider again how cute she would look in her bespoke mage’s gown made entirely of lamb’s tails. Oh, and how imposing she’d look when it was paired with her new lavish ‘heel-boots’ which, despite their impracticality, added 3 inches to her height. Smiling inwardly, she approached the main gate, and noticed with some surprise, that it was barred shut. Beside it a rugged looking orc stood in an imposing set of armour, the likes of which Chincia had never seen before. Seeing Chincia in her travellers outfit, the orc brute let out a long sigh as he hailed her down.</p><p>“Before you ask, Jarl Igmund has decreed that women are no longer permitted to leave the city unaccompanied and without paying a toll. Toll is 100 septims, and I’m the toll collector. Understand?”</p><p>Incredulous, Chincia started but was interrupted by the orc, the hint of a cruel smile forming at the sides of his yellow tusks. “As of strike of midnight last night sweetheart - don’t waste your energy arguing – unless of course, you want to end up in a cell like some of the other uppity bitches we’ve had to settle down this morning” he gestured to a thigh-high cage, designed for small livestock. Within it, contorted painfully on all fours, was a woman with a torn silk dress. In her mouth was a large metallic ball, held firmly in place by what looked like a leather bridle. Her hair, styled in the latest fashion, was plastered to her cheeks, large globules of some sticky substance serving as the adhesive – to Chincia green eyes it looked a lot like a man’s seed – oh gods! The woman locked Chincia’s eyes with a desperate pleading. But all Chincia saw was herself locked in that cage, dreams of becoming a powerful sorceress as hapless as a slave’s dreams of freedom.</p><p>Outrage and fear clearly showed on her face because the muscular orc in front of her now smiled openly. Leaning in, he whispered to her conspiratorially, “Of course, if you like what you see, we can arrange for your own cage in a more private setting? I might even be inclined to knock… hmm” he hummed to himself as a merchant might do when weighing up the price of a oxen “five septims off the toll for you?”</p><p>Chincia thought she saw his hand move towards the hilt of his sword. Frozen, she glanced down and to her revulsion, she saw that his large hairy hand was wrapped around the stalk of the most enormous orcish cock she had ever laid eyes on. He was squeezing the base hard, flapping it about gently, the bulging vascularity pronounced on his thick shaft. The jerks of his wrist caused his girth to flap about as if in slow motion due to the sheer weight of the thing. The orc's tight foreskin gripped the wide head of his meat and a silver circular barbell protruded from his cock-hole, the piercing embedding itself somewhere underneath the end of his sex. A single clear bead of viscous liquid leaked from his hole where it dangled low near his enormous testicles. In another context she might be impressed by such an excessive embodiment of manhood but given the owner’s menacing expression she was anything but keen to get a closer look at it.</p><p>“I… need to go” she stammered, too stupid with fear to come up with a clever rebuttal. The orc’s fearsome gaze did not leave her face as she excused herself, backing away slowly to anywhere but near the orcish toll collector and his undulating appendage. When she deemed she was far enough, she turned around and sped towards the nearest familiar haven – the Silver-Blood Inn. Behind her she overheard the eruption of laughter – doubtless the orc brute and his cronies thought the interaction the pinnacle of humour.</p><p>As Chincia regained some composure, the desperation of her situation dawned on her – 100 septims <em>and</em> an escort!? She had spent every last coin purchasing supplies for her journey to Winterhold. She needed to find a way into some gold, and quick. Almost naturally, her mind immediately turned to the tavern-keep’s fool of a son, Hreinn. The boy had paid for most of her supplies in the first place, and it dawned on her that his unwavering servitude was the one comfort of Markath that she might miss. The poor boy would have willingly fed himself through the cities’ waterwheels – if only for a glace at her bare breast or inner thigh.</p><p>As she rounded the final corner before the Inn, she could not keep the image of that orcish cock from her mind. It bounced dumbly around her brain, crashing into her thoughts and occupying her mind’s eye with little consideration for the disgust she had genuinely felt only moments ago. Despite her best efforts to convince herself otherwise, she noticed with a tinge of self-loathing, that her undergarments were moist against the underside of her sweet flower. Angry with herself, she dug her nails into her arm attempting to use the pain as a distraction. Disparagingly, the pain only amplified her sexual haze. She rolled her eyes, truly ashamed of her depravity, and pushed open the ornate metallic doors to the Silver-Blood Inn.</p><p>***</p><p>The fireplace was the main source of light in the bustling inn. Formless shadows rapidly appeared and dissipated as the flames licked rhythmically in the hearth. The walls were adorned by the skins of beasts, doubtless an attempt by the part owner Kleppr to appeal to the rough sorts that frequent the inn. His wife, and the other half of the establishment, Frabbi, bickered with him as usual. She was gesticulating intensely, slim fingers dangerously close to his eyes. Behind her stood one of the tavern’s slave girls. She cradled her wrist delicately and had blood trickling from her nose. Unaware, or disinterested, most patrons paid no heed to the argument and drank their mead while eyeing each other warily. Many men laughed rowdily and cheered as if without a care. But their eyes betrayed their performance as they scouted the other patrons, gauging the size and strength of muscled arms - guessing at their skill with a blade. To a knowledgeable observer, an invisible game of posturing was being played by all – a game in which a miscalculation could prove fatal.</p><p>Hreinn was firmly positioned at the bottom of that ladder, and he knew it most of all. His heart had skipped a beat at the sight of Chincia when she entered the tavern with unusually flushed cheeks. Now, having heard her most recent story, he was reminded of his impotence again – she had come to him for money, what else would she have come for?</p><p> “No money!?” Chincia gaped at the plain-featured boy, her expression harsh in the orange glow of firelight.</p><p>He meekly shrugged his shoulders and explained, “Pa says I’ve been throwing my money away too easily. He says he’s holding my pay until I can save enough for my own stead somewhere else in The Reach.” His head shot up, as if surprised by the echo of a thought in his vacant skull “maybe when I get the place, you could come and... visit, maybe?” Already, the signs of doubt were plain on his face.</p><p>Chincia continued to gape at Hreinn. How could he not see the truth of things? She would never visit him in his ‘stead’. She would sooner walk into a Foresworn encampment with nary an item of clothing. With that thought, another image of the pierced orcish cock flooded her mind and she shook her head in an attempt to get it out.</p><p>Hreinn had expected that response but was still shocked to see her so blatantly refuse to even string him along in his fantasy. Frustrated, he retrieved in his imagination an image of Chincia bound and on her knees. Her bright green eyes helplessly begging at him. His seed splattered on her freckled cheeks. Smiling at the familiar daydream, he was reminded of his father’s offer to all female travellers in need of coin.</p><p>“Chincia, there is <em>one</em> way that you could make enough coin for the toll and an escort.” Encouraged by the hopeful look and softening of her face, he continued, “Pa can hire you! The pay is good, and you’d be amazing at the job. I think you’d have enough for the toll and to hire someone like <em>him</em> in a matter of weeks.” He pointed towards a large Nordic man sat near the fireplace. His face was covered by a thick stubble which highlighted the network of white scars across his chin and cheekbones. He had a hard look about him, but he was handsome in an oddly refined way – with the right vestments he may shape up to be a desirable bachelor, Chincia considered distractedly.</p><p> “You can’t seriously expect me to be work as a barmaid” she said, turning back to Hreinn, a pitiful specimen of ‘man’ by contrast to the large nord.</p><p>“Well…er, no Chincia. We have enough bar maids as it is. I was talking about…” and he glanced back nervously towards one of the slave girls at the bar. She was adorned in a tight metallic corset, uncomfortable looking boots with tall, narrow heels. To cap off the look, she wore a leather collar. The corset was cut off at the chest, pushing her tight breasts up and out over the metal. From her small pink nipples dangled two ornate piercings which visibly tugged at her erect buds. It was clearly uncomfortable, but the effect was spectacular. Beneath the corset, she wore the thinnest loincloth imaginable, exposing her rear as if she were wearing nothing at all. Her left buttock glowed red, the clear impression of a hand across its side. “Look.. they aren’t <em>really</em> slaves – it’s all show, the patrons love it!” Hreinn said, as if convincing himself more than Chincia.</p><p>Again, Chincia wondered to herself how Hreinn could not see the way of things – her, a common whore! It was unimaginable! She was so shocked by Hreinn’s audacity that she burst out laughing. She gently reached out and held Hreinn’s hand, a hopeful sort of confusion seemed to have gripped the fool. “Hreinn, I really have had the most awful day, but you still manage to bring a smile to my lips.” His face lit up, beaming in the flickering light of the inn. Chincia continued, “you really are, the most idiotic, weak-witted, spineless whoreson I have ever met. I don’t care how few septims I have to my name, or how much debt my father left me in – I will never work as a common slut for gold – but even that seems preferable than being <em>your </em>slut.”</p><p>Hrienn’s dumb smile vanished, replaced by a petulant expression of hurt and shame. He let out a weak sigh and turned, defeated, to resume tending the Inn’s restless patrons. As he walked away, Chincia thought she made out his whining, “God’s forbid you actually work a day in your life, Chincia…”.</p><p>Hurting Hreinn had sparked something warm in Chincia, and she gazed around the room seeking the eye of the hard-looking Nord mercenary. He no longer sat near the fire and was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her eyes settled on the slave girl again. She was tending to a group of miners. At the centre of the group, was the mostly toothless man who assaulted her that morning. She really should have left then to avoid any possible confrontation with the man, but she found herself entranced by the way his long, bony fingers edged their way along the exposed rear of the slave girl. The girl had a confident sultry look in her eyes, but Chincia who was well versed in hiding her feelings, could see the nervousness in the way the girl’s finger picked at her nails. The man’s creeping fingers deftly pulled aside her loin ‘string’ and Chincia could see them feeling out her sex. She imagined the slave girl’s warm folds, bulging between his fingers as he rubbed her. The bulbus nodules of his knuckles kneading her as the engorged lips slid between them. </p><p>Now the girl seemed less anxious and the man placed a small pouch of gold in her hands as his other hand continued working her rhythmically. Chincia found herself surprisingly aroused by the scene and noticed that she had absentmindedly begun rubbing her own moist flower. She felt disappointed that the show had ended as the slave girl escorted the skinny miner towards the private rooms, and then disappointed again at her own indiscriminate ravenousness.</p><p>Before she could fully compose herself and consider her next steps, a bald man with patchy facial hair and rodent-like features approached her. I hear your looking for some easy cash. Don’t worry, it aint nothing like that” he said, wryly smiling as he pointed his thumb towards the back of the slave girl. “It’s a simple job, and you’ll have your money within an hour if you play your cards right.” Intrigued, Chincia raised her eyebrow, beckoning him to continue. He resumed, “you see, the temple of Dibella is known for a lot of things, one of which is that beautiful idol that sits behind the dais…” and on he went.</p><p>***</p><p>Her legs ached by the time she made it to the bronze gates of the temple. No wonder Dibella’s priestesses had the most enviable calves in Markarth – well, rumoured to at least. Only a lucky few (all of them women) had had the chance to get their hands under one of their robes. Dibella was, after all, the goddess of women and it seemed the priestesses took a strict approach when it came to carnal pursuits. Not that this bothered Chincia. To the contrary, she had spent more than a few evenings fiddling and sucking under the sheets in the company of ‘respectable’ women. That was when her father had still lived. She always found his keen interest in her romantic life uncomfortable and had dreamed of liberation from his judgemental fussing. But after he died, she found no grand release at hand, only an empty nagging and an itch to leave this miserable city.</p><p>Inside the temple, two lifelike statues of a most feminine beauty gazed lovingly down on the temple’s worshipers. Despite their age, their garments held a timeless appeal, stone polished until it looked a convincing silk. Their delicate features were arranged in a mix of ecstasy and a sort of welcoming openness. Long arms stretched overhead, they stood three times the height of Chincia. They seemed so alive she thought she imagined the rising and falling of their chests. She found herself gazing at their silk draped nipples with a voracity that seemed to characterise her day quite well... <em>what has gotten into me today!?</em></p><p>As she passed them, she laid a hand on the nearest statues foot. Warm. Perhaps the goddess herself was watching tonight… hopefully not too closely, Chincia mused nervously. The man at the inn had described the art of lockpicking as if it were as easy as breathing. He had even provided her with the necessary lockpick free of charge. Clearly his confidence in her was an indicator that this was an easy job… wasn’t it? Regardless, she was out of options and she could not wait any longer. With her charm and her father’s name, she was confident that she could talk her way out of any situation if it came to it. All that remained was to pick the lock and snatch the golden idol of the goddess.</p><p>Not trace of the incessant roar spewing from the cities’ waterfalls could be found here. All was silent save the sound of Chincia’s footsteps echoing across the vast hall. Along the right wall she spied a lone priestess, completing her pre-prayer rituals. Having once pledged herself to Dibella as a foolish teen (embarrassingly, she had hoped to win the heart of some forgettable runt) Chincia knew the prayer to be ‘involved’ and she was confident that she could complete her mission before the priestess even opened her eyes.</p><p>She approached the door to the living quarters and the priestesses hidden dais. Behind it lay the god’s golden idol and Chincia’s path to her true purpose. As she knelt in front of it, Chincia took one last furtive glance around and confirmed that she was unobserved. Nervous energy radiated through her body. She had never felt such an intense physical reaction before. Tendrilous tingles weaved their way through her arms and legs with a pleasurable radiance. Approaching the hole, lockpick in hand, she found herself reminded of the slave girl’s swollen sex – and imagined her lockpick as the bony finger ready to penetrate. Although this time, it was more than a wandering daydream – the lockpick really <em>was</em> the man’s long finger, and as she slid it inside, she thought she could hear the moans of the slave girl refracting off the walls of the temple behind her. Shocked, she looked over her shoulder to see nothing had changed – the priestess remained on her knees devoutly, perfectly still save the restricted movements of the priestess’ hand beneath her robes.  </p><p>The energy continued to weave through her body and Chincia reflected that perhaps she really had found her true calling – had she known petty thievery was so stimulating, she may have dropped the Winterhold idea altogether! Horny, scared, and confused, she continued to tease the hole as the man from the inn had demonstrated… which man though, she was no longer sure.</p><p>Twisting and bumping, Chincia felt the movement of her tools <em>inside</em> her. Her own flower, now wet beyond doubt, guided her, as she probed and pulled until it felt – ugh – just right! She felt her awareness of her surroundings slipping and bit her lip in an effort to maintain focus. She had to cum, or was it that she had to open the door…? Pleasure smashing through her body, she no longer remembered. She no longer cared.</p><p>She convulsed as a shooting wave of intense pleasure started from her dripping clit tearing through her insides. The lock was open, all that remained was to pull on the knob. Still ravenously horny, she opened her eyes and was greeted, once again, by the gargantuan orcish cock which had been plaguing her mind all day. The thick bead of precum still leaked from the pierced end. Her arousal did not permit her to think clearly and, deep within her mind, she heard a feminine voice whisper encouragingly:</p><p>“Embrace your lust and consume me, my pet.”</p><p>She grasped the member with both hands, feeling small as she gauged the weight of the thing. As she pulled back gently on his shaft, she uncovered more of the glorious head, exposing the glistening frenulum. All the while, she watched the transparent substance eek and bob from his hole. The precum looked to drip and Chincia opened her mouth, ready to taste him. She gingerly stuck out her tongue in a playful display of mock-bashfulness, and guided herself up to the hole, collecting all the viscous liquid. She tasted the salty hint of his seed and it felt good in her mouth. She lifted his cock and licked longingly at the base of the underside of his shaft. Tongue toying with his enormous testicles, she felt their smooth heat envelop her face. The slight sour smell of his sex spurred her on and Chincia lovingly worked her mouth up, and up, all the way to the tip of his endless meat. Finally, she tried to wrap her mouth over the tip of his pierced glans, but despite her hunger, it was too big to fit in her outstretched mouth.</p><p>Frustrated, she fumbled beneath her clothes and began fingering her pussy while simultaneously sucking on as much of the enormous cock head that she could fit. Her fingers worked with a deftness that felt foreign to her and she realised that they were not her fingers, but the long, bony fingers of that pig from the tavern. Such a stellar job the hand was doing, that she did not care to whom they belonged. For what seemed like both an age and an instant, she sat there - getting fucked by a stranger’s hand and sucking on the end of an enormous orcish cock.</p><p>Her hunger built in harmony with the dexterous fingers’ work and she knew that she could not be satisfied until she felt the member deep in her throat. The feminine voice returned, and granted her permission again:</p><p>“<em>Consume</em> me, my pet!”</p><p>Without consideration for the cock’s owner she pushed her mouth wider and wider until finally the head fit in her mouth. She felt his foreskin pressed tight against her lips and she sucked, pushed, and stretched her mouth wider again until she had enveloped even more. She felt a pop and her jaw felt strangely loose. Finally, granted the freedom to swallow the orcish monster she pushed herself entirely down the length of him. Her nose nestled in the tuft of hair at the base of his cock and she felt full. Pulling back again, she observed how her spit hung off the protruding veins of his length. But she observed only briefly, as she could not wait to throw herself down again. She could feel the piercing deep in her distended throat as it bumped over each noduled rim of her oesophagus. It hurt slightly, as did her jaw. But the pain was lost in the pleasure. The pain <em>was</em> the pleasure.</p><p>Suddenly, the feminine voice echoed through her mind – was it, <em>laughing</em>? Chincia paid it little mind as she slurped desperately at the orcish tool. The laugh trailed off and with an impatient sigh, it uttered one word. “Enough!”</p><p>With that word Chincia’s ecstasy ceased abruptly. In its place, pain tore through her body. She let out a horrified scream.</p><p>***</p><p>The priestess, Catia, exchanged concerned looks with the head priestess. Moments ago, she had witnessed the young woman vigorously masturbate in a trance-like state. She had seemed immune to her surroundings and had groaned rapturously despite the obvious damage being done to her knees – squirming and spasming in front of the door. Catia had seen communion with Dibella before, but never had she seen it done like this. Excitedly, she hurried for the head priestess, seeking clarity on the miraculous scene. When they had returned, the woman no longer writhed in pleasure. Groaning she was trying to remove her mouth from the large ornate door handle – somehow, she had enveloped it completely. She winced and cried out as she pulled her face from the door. Once free, her mouth hung open awkwardly. With a clearer view of the door, both disciples noticed the lockpick, snapped off in the door’s mechanism. The head priestess turned to Catia and instructed her to get the guards, immediately.</p><p>The young woman pushed herself to her feet weakly and took the head priestess by both arms. The girl attempted to speak, but no sense could be made from her guttural splattering. The jaw hung unnaturally loose, uncooperative. Fury burned in the woman’s eyes as she pushed the priestess away and clumsily fled towards the temple gates. Something about the girl tugged at the head priestess. Those red curls and green eyes. Recognition flooded in. Chincia of Vindrell Hall. <em>Oh, you stupid spoiled girl. To steal from your own goddess. Your vanity will be your undoing.</em></p><p>The priestess made no attempt to stop the young woman. They both knew there was nowhere for her to go. The guards would come for her. And when they did, they would not be gentle. <em>Oh Chincia, you stupid, spoiled girl.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wet dreams and waking nightmares</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***</p><p>
  <em>Scramble, flee, descend into the streets. Descending. Control slipping. Tumbling, sliding, falling. Plummeting down a flight of stairs. Plummeting into oblivion. No more control. No more thinking. Home. I must get home. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>The backpack sat haphazardly on the ornate stone floor of Vindrel Hall. A bespoke mage’s cloak spilled out of it like a retched pool of sick seeping from the mouth of a deflated toad. The bag’s contents littered the mountain home, trickling in from the entryway: compass by the door, cast-iron pan next to the fireplace, a shattered lantern on the dining room floor. Only one night had passed since the bag had been packed with precision and delight. Now, it resembled an eviscerated carcass, innards splayed in every direction. Next to the bed lay an empty bottle of potent Alto wine. It was meant to be opened on her first night in Winterhold. It was supposed to celebrate her triumph. Another destiny unfulfilled.</p><p>Chincia’s body screamed at her. She winced with even the slightest pressure to her purple elbows and knees. Her jaw, mercifully back in its original place, had swelled up, to what felt to be twice its usual size. It made her molars feel larger than usual, like clumsy siblings jostling for a seat at the arena. Her head ached. Her groin felt tender. But for all her body screamed… her mind roared ever louder.</p><p>She hadn’t slept so much as lost consciousness. The wine had put her into a restless paralysis where she dreamed, or thought she had dreamed, of an orgy. The chaotic scene was populated by every conceivable race, beast, spirit, and monster. One could even glimpse the gods among the carnal panorama – that is, if they could be seen at all beneath the writhing mountain of their countless sycophants. She was surrounded by ecstatic moans as man fucked mer. Primal grunts as beasts rode and consumed their prey. Unearthly whispers as spirits and flesh combined. Chincia walked through the hot press of heaving bodies and felt her own nervous hunger radiating from her chest.</p><p>Before her lay a golden-skinned feminine figure with innumerable arms spread amongst a crowd of worshippers. The deft hands elicited squeals of delight as they worked the many eager holes. Chincia watched the goddess’ hands. Watched them as they stroked and fondled. Watched as they teased and pinched. She watched eagerly. She watched longingly. Chincia watched every deft thrust and tug and longed to feel it all. She watched as one delicate arm extended through the writhing bodies… and beckoned to her.</p><p>Despite the cacophony of moans, a voice cut through with pristine clarity.</p><p>“Embrace your lust and consume me, my pet.”</p><p>As she approached the figure, Chincia felt her hunger increase. She was <em>impossibly</em> hungry. Everywhere she looked she wanted to suck, stroke, lick, spit, bite, ride, fuck, grope, drink, consume – she was overwhelmed and burning up with her lust. Worshippers around her were momentarily broken from their ecstatic trance and watched on as Chincia quite literally burst into flames. Liquid fire flowed down Chincia’s body, from her gasping mouth, between her heaving chest, down her narrow waist and over her engorged lips. Heat radiated from her in a whirlwind of searing waves. Those around her vainly attempted to flee but were consumed by the flames, their faces contorted in an unfathomable mix of pain and delight, moments before turning to ash.</p><p>The golden-skinned figure extended the beckoning hand towards Chincia but was rebuffed by the accelerating vortex of fire. As if shocked by the refusal, the many-armed figure sat up and brought its full gaze down onto Chincia. The figure’s shifting face smiled, satisfied. Through the swirling flames, Chincia’s view was slowly obscured by a thousand golden arms, erect and attentive, poised like a thousand snakes ready to strike. The figure’s formless mouth opened and uttered one word:</p><p>“Enough”</p><p>And Chincia was engulfed.</p><p>*****</p><p>The heavy rapping at the door of Vindrel Hall reverberated off the bare walls, through the dimly lit rooms and into Chincia’s throbbing skull. Startled, she shot up out of bed and immediately regretted having moved so rapidly. Everything hurt. Everything was ruined. She caught a glimpse of her naked body in her bedroom mirror. Her usual tendrilous red hair was disorganised and frizzy with a large clump of hair plastered to the side of her swollen face. She raised a blood smeared arm and inspected her damaged face.</p><p>Despite the dishevelled appearance, her figure still oozed an undeniable sexual energy. The slight contours of her mid-section and legs hinted at an undeserved athleticism even when compared to her most physically active peers. Her large, full breasts poured over a slightly visible ribcage and maintained a perkiness only possible in youth. Large nipples transitioned almost imperceptibly into her pale... and still erect buds. Her hand drifted to her flower. Wet. Warm. Focussing inward, she noticed that she still felt the lingering presence of her encounter with the goddess, Dibella. Deeper inward she drifted. She began to slide a finger inside herself – and was cut off by yet another violent banging at the front door.</p><p>She was wrenched back to reality, and memory of the day before flooded in with a crescendo of dread. <em>The city gates blocked… No money for the toll or the escort… Hreinn – as impotent and useless as ever… a chance squandered at the temple… </em>With each new revelation she sank further into panic. <em>Gods… the temple – the guards will have been alerted by now! How long have I slept – how could I be so stupid! </em></p><p>Chincia now heard the unique clanging of the city guard’s engineers disassembling the front door’s mechanism. The design of the mountain home meant that there was only one entrance and one exit. Chincia was trapped… and she had run out of time.</p><p>A child-like panic gripped her as she stood frozen in the middle of the cold hall. She was naked still. All she could do was watch the few last embers pulse dully in the hearth. Hours earlier, a roaring flame had doused the room behind her in warmth and golden light. Only flickering remained.</p><p>The sound of the engineer’s hand tools let out a deep rumble outside.</p><p>
  <em>Only one ember remained now…</em>
</p><p>The door’s lock rang out a high-pitched protest.</p><p>
  <em>Flickering…</em>
</p><p>The piercing ringing stopped suddenly, and the lock slid open - defeated.</p><p>
  <em>Flickering… </em>
</p><p>The door barged open, and a sinister laugh announced the end of hope.</p><p><em>Vanished. </em>The ember ceased its dying glow. No trace of its existence could be seen in the gloomy haze that swallowed the interior of Vindrel Hall.</p><p>Chincia turned to face the entryway. Through the large doorway she could now see the vague hint of deep blue light in the sky outside. <em>Hmph… Dawn. A new beginning? </em>Chincia could have almost laughed at the hopeless irony of her situation. Almost… had she not been rigid with fear.</p><p>A broad male figure stepped confidently into the doorway. In one hand he held a sheathed two-handed longsword by its middle. Obviously, he did not expect a fight. As he strutted closer, Chincia recognised the brutal set of plated armour draped over the warrior’s green skin. With each step closer, she could more clearly see the terrible face – that cruel smile wider than ever as his wild eyes took in her naked and helpless figure. The hairs on Chincia’s body raised involuntarily under his gaze, and she shivered, suddenly noticing how cold her skin felt.</p><p>But despite the cold, the fear, the hopelessness, and the exhaustion, Chincia found that she could not ignore the faint glow of warmth flickering deep within her chest. She could not ignore that, despite the imminent threat and the helplessness of her situation, she felt the slightest bit… excited.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Please, please, please leave some feedback, concrit, thoughts whatever - it would mean a lot.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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